


A Terrible First Impression

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 10:25:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4702595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Hi there! Can you please write a Root/Shaw fic where Root meets Shaw's mum and Root's intimidated by her - which makes her very shy/clumsy and Shaw's very much amused but also like "I can't believe I have feelings for this idiot"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Terrible First Impression

After a night filled with firearms and fist fights, Sameen Shaw and Root Groves stumble into the nearest New York café, looking for a half decent cup of coffee and a place to rest their weary limbs. Shaw wanders over to a quaint table at the far corner of the small shoppe, then drops like a rock in a pond into the chair. Root follows with a little more delicacy, although the slightest of purple colors rimming her eyes shows she’d rather have flopped down as well. After they both take their seats, Shaw begins rolling her wrist in tight circles before speaking.

“Is there a reason that you  _had_  to sit next to me?” She asks, fatigue making her all the more bitter as she gestures to the two open seats across the table. Root’s eyes flicker to them with little interest, then focus on Shaw entirely. Their tired haze clears up immediately, leaving lively brown eyes trapped inside a sleepless body.

Root shrugs, small smirk slowly creeping onto her features. “Would you rather me sit over there?” Root questions with an innocent trill in her sly tone.

“Yeah,” Shaw responds bluntly, flat gaze not once wavering from Root’s as Shaw presses her lips together in annoyance. It all but bounces off Root, who takes the barricaded door as an invitation to come in. Root leans Shaw’s way, arms folded on the table and ankles crossed, as she comes within a few inches of Shaw’s face. Shaw doesn’t move, a true statue save for the irritated flicker in her eyes.

Root stops, waits a moment, then smiles.

* * *

 

“Why?” She asks, rhetorical question nearly a whisper between them. The word travels to Shaw like a wave, leaving some of her over-angered walls to crumble. “I don’t  _bite_ , Shaw.” Root gives her a quick one-over. “Not  _always_.”

Shaw’s jaw clenches at once, eyes narrowing as the hint of a sneer surfaces on her face. She swallows a little harder than usual, ears heating up. Shaw watches Root’s eyes- the way they glow in amusement at her fluster- before shaking her head ruefully.

Looking away, Shaw picks up a menu, trying to remember how to breathe. After a second, Root melts back to her half of the table, and Shaw’s lungs begin functioning more normally. As she picks her way through the assortments of coffees and pastries, she finds herself sending quick glances out the wall length window that runs along her right. Past the golden letters that swirl on the outside of the window, Shaw picks out random pedestrians; however, something feels off to her. Perhaps it’s due to the mission they’d just completed, or maybe the meager amount of sleep she’d gotten in the past three days, but something out there is out of place. She just isn’t sure what.

However, as she finds nothing in her line of sight, she merely looks back to the menu, subconsciously obscuring Root from the window’s line of sight.

Paranoia sets in without warning. Suddenly, it’s as if eyes are on the back of Shaw’s neck- burning a hole in the side of her face and watching her every micro-movement. The feeling leaves her radiating unease, and Root picks up on it instantly.

“Sam, what’s wrong?” She asks, voice just loud enough to carry past the small din of the customers and to Shaw’s ear. Shaw doesn’t respond, only looks over to Root with unreadable eyes. Root looks right back, then her gaze drifts past Shaw and to the window. Something odd comes over her face just as three quick taps rap against the glass.

Shaw’s head snaps over, eyes set to kill, and she sees a woman. She wears a light and stylish jacket, dark hair pulled up in a bun and chocolate eyes held wide. Her light tan knuckles are still held against the glass, fingers slightly wrinkled with age tucked in tight to her palm. As Shaw takes her in, she takes in Shaw, a small smile coming to her at the sight. Shaw, on the other hand, doesn’t smile at all, not even the crack of a grin escapes her as she comes to a slow stand.

“Sameen?” Root’s voice is right behind Shaw- right in her ear- but it sounds a million miles away. Shaw’s vision tunnels, all sound gone as the face before her plays on like a silent film. A hand wraps around Shaw’s upper arm, but it doesn’t feel like her arm at all. She can see the fingers wrapped around the sleeve of her black trench coat from the corner of her eye, but her brain connects no feeling to it. Just this woman. There’s only this woman.

The woman begins to walk away. Her eyes are still on Shaw as she moves away, heading out of Shaw’s straight forward line of sight. Then, everything comes back to her in a rush. Her eyes clear up, sound returns, and feeling resurfaces. She notices for the first time how tight the hand on her arm is, and how loud her name is being uttered into her ear.

Shaw turns at once, coming nose to nose with Root, who’s too surprised to jump back. Her hand is still on Shaw’s arm, and Shaw is unsure if it is to help her keep balance or for Root’s own sake. None the less, it doesn’t seem to matter. Not even their close proximity, which would usually leave her in a flustered train wreck, holds any weight. Root must see it, for concern washes over her features.

“Shaw? Hey, who  _was_  that?” Root asks in a sort of demand, giving Shaw the slightest shake as the small bell on the café door jingles. Both women’s eyes glide over that way, catching the woman from the window as she steps in, eyes on Shaw.

Root looks back to Shaw, eyes begging her to spit it out, needing to know whether to greet her with a gun or a grin, and in the next few seconds. Slowly, with the speed of a slug, Shaw’s eyes slide back to Root, and there is something Root has never before seen in them. She’s not sure what it is.

“That,” Shaw tells her, voice low and dazed, “is my mom.”

_________\ If Your Number’s Up /__________

“Sameen, you look so…” Her mother stops, eyes scanning every visible inch of the small woman, loving smile softening her sharp features. “Grown up,” she finishes at last, eyes shining.

Shaw stands before her, not yet saying a word. Her mother looks at her one last time before pulling her in, arms drawing her into a hug. Shaw’s hands remain limp at her sides, eyes un-telling as she gazes straight ahead. Unsure what to do. How to act. What to say.

After a moment like this, Shaw’s mother pulls away, keeping her daughter an arm’s length away with her hands on either of Shaw’s shoulders. As Root watches, caught between the urge to sit and the need to stand, she can’t help the awe she feels at seeing Shaw’s mom. The fact that she merely strolled into their day without warning is enough to leave Root’s head in shambles, and she can only imagine the hold it has on Shaw. Root isn’t sure whether to stay or go. It seems like a moment she shouldn’t be treading into, yet she’s too intrigued to force herself away.

Before she has time to decide, Shaw’s mother turns a stern eye on her, pinning Root down like a bug under a boot.

“Your name?” She asks, although the softness of her tone is all but lost on Root. Root swallows at once, palms dampening as her heart picks up. She’d been shot at by bad guys, beaten to a near pulp by the government- she’d looked killers in the eye- but never once had she felt as intimidated as she does now. This woman of no more than five foot two seems to tower over her like a predatory dragon with flames in its eyes.

“I- um- I’m-”

“This is Root,” Shaw answers instead, turning to Root with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. Root’s heart begins convulsing, and she finds that remaining calm is not an option. She tries to smile at them, but can’t.  _Or can. But can’t_. Her face dances between half a toothy grimace and a frown, brow knitting together more closely by the second.

At seeing the amusement surfacing in Shaw’s eyes, Root presses her lips firmly together, eyes widening in chagrin as she looks down to the table and back up to Shaw’s mother. Root has never felt smaller in her life, and wants nothing more than to shrink into absolute nonexistence.

Shaw’s mom cocks an eyebrow Root’s way before shaking her head with a clever smile and turning to Shaw. “Promising,” her mother inquiries, to which Shaw’s eyes drop coldly on her, warning her without a word.

Taking mechanical steps, Shaw makes her way back to her seat between Root and the window, sitting down stiffly. Something between mother and daughter is unspoken but understood, and Shaw’s mom takes a seat directly across from Root. Root wishes it were one over instead.

“So this is how it’s going to be?” Her mother asks, chiseled features all moving in seamless synchronization as she speaks. “I see you after  _all_  this time and you don’t say a  _word_  to me?” Shaw looks at her mother, then gives the shrug of a teenager. Her mother laughs, something that, contrary to her serious chill, leaves the room warm and carefree long after its sound has evanesced. “Perhaps since  _you_  answered for  _her_ ,  _she_  will answer for  _you_ ,” her mother muses, eyes- now slightly more welcoming- set on Root. They have the cool precision of a cat, with the sly cunning of a lioness stalking her prey.  _Tread carefully,_  they whisper in entrancing tongues,  _it only takes one misstep to fall_. “How are you?”

As simple as the question sounds, her tone is so daunting- so consternating- that Root finds every word she’s ever uttered as foreign to her as Manganese. Root chokes, unsure of herself for the first time in years, and she feels her shoulders pulling in as she tries to vanish into thin air.

“Leave her alone, Mom,” Shaw says, voice calmer than Root could ever dream to feel, and her mother’s eyes slide amiably back to her daughter.

“I’m merely trying to make conversation with her,” Shaw’s mom replies slyly, and Root’s cheeks begin to flush, knowing she’s caught between two rivaling forces.

“Well, don’t.”

Shaw’s mom’s mouth falls open the slightest bit at that, eyes glittering in disbelief. “Remind me, Sameen, what did I  _do_  to you to make you this angry?”

Root peers over at Shaw, who sits back in her seat, eyes calculating something unknown. “I’m not mad, just… surprised.” Root takes in a silent breath, not sure she’d ever heard Shaw come out and say she was anything other than angered or annoyed. Her mother laughs, relieving some pressure yet again, then purses her lips with a smile. She leans in on the table, waiting for Shaw to say more. “How did you find me?”

“Not by  _looking_ , that’s for certain,” her mother replies with a well natured rumble in her voice. “I saw you from across the street over there by chance.” She points through the window and to the opposing sidewalk. “I thought it just might be you. More than the seeing it- I could  _feel_  something about it- so I came over to be sure.”

Shaw nods solemnly, letting everything soak in.

“I thought the custom would be to  _smile_  at me when you saw me,” Shaw’s mom continues, more to herself than Shaw. “But then, you were never the smiling type.”

A waitress wearing a small dress and a wide smile walks over, pen and notepad in hand as she prepares to take their order.

“Hi, I’m Cindy,” she says to them, “can I get you three anything?”

Root feels her ribs break, allowing her lungs and her heart to spill out as all the pressure held inside her falls away- for the moment. She hadn’t realized how short her breathing became until just now, where she swallows the air greedily, trying to clear her head.

 _Why are you acting so childish? There’s nothing to be nervous about_. But there is, to Root at least. This is the first time she’s ever met Shaw’s mom- maybe the only time she will.  _And I’m making a terrible first impression._

“Miss?  _Miss_?” Root blinks quickly, the real world materializing before her, and she looks up to the waitress’s concerned expression, chocolate face and hazel eyes waiting uneasily.

“I- sorry- uh, black.”

Cindy lifts an eyebrow, tongue protruding from the side of her mouth in sudden irritation. From her right, she can hear Shaw’s near-silent snicker, and her face begins to burn.

“ _Coffee_ ,” Root tells her, somewhat firmly this time. “Black  _coffee_.” The waitress nods, understanding, and scribbles it down before walking off. Root turns to face Shaw, only to see the quirk of a smile hanging at the corner of her mouth and humor set in her eyes.

“So she  _does_  speak,” Shaw’s mom comments, something like approval in her voice. “For a minute there, I thought we might not be able to  _have_  a conversation.” Root tries for an apologetic smile that she knows, the second it comes out, that it is all entirely wrong. It’s as if her mind has shut off, every safety net and firewall she’d ever set up for herself disintegrating to dust.

“Wait ‘til you get to  _know_  her,” Shaw comments snidely. “She never  _shuts up_.” Root can’t help but smile, butterflies welling up in her stomach as she looks at a point beyond Shaw’s mom, thankful for Shaw’s help.

“She one of the smart types?” Her mother asks, eyeing Root in a new light. “They’re always quiet at first.”

“Yeah, Mom.”

Root’s heart jumps from her chest as she looks over to Shaw, surprise flickering in her eyes like a candle’s flame as it dances with the wind. Shaw returns the gaze with one that tells Root that the last of what little sympathy she has is all used up. If Root doesn’t pick herself off the ground now, the dogs are free to descend.

“Do you still work at that place you can’t tell me about?” Her mother asks, not seeming to read into the silent exchange.

“Yeah.”

“How is it?”

A light smirk comes to Shaw’s face as she looks at her mother with the same exact eyes.

“I can’t  _tell_  you about it.” Her mother laughs buoyantly, shaking her head in amusement as she collects herself.

“And do you work in this same place?” She asks Root, kind smile showing the remnants of the laugh on her face. Still, it barely helps Root overcome her sudden tidal wave of shyness.

“Yeah- yes,” Root responds, able to let the most miniature of smiles peek out.

“Your orders,” Cindy interrupts with an overly cheery voice, balancing a circular tray between the edge of the table and her hip. She places a small cup paired with a larger mug before Shaw’s mom, then distributes Root and Shaw’s with one in each hand. Then, she drops of a small plate of pastries at the center of the table, alongside a Creamer filled with milk. “If you need anything, gimme a holler.”

Looking around the table as Cindy meanders off, Root realizes she wasn’t paying the slightest attention to what was ordered. As discreetly as possible, she tries to sort it out, needing something to do other than dwell on her intimidation via Shaw’s mom.

The smell of fresh cooked dough and sweet glaze wafts into the air, enveloping Root in warmth. She reaches her hand from under the table towards the fork next to the personal plate in front of her. Yet, as she grasps the fork in her hand, her fingers short circuit. The fork drops down onto her plate, landing with a deafening clank. Root winces at the sound, scrambling to catch it- as if it hadn’t already touched down- causing all the more ruckus as her hand slams into the fork that slams back into the plate. Her throat feels tight, and doesn’t loosen any until the cacophonous noise fades away, leaving an awkward silence in its place.

“You  _okay_?” Shaw asks, amusement spilling from her voice as she looks to Root with a poorly concealed smile. Root narrows her eyes playfully, but only because she doesn’t know the best way to respond, then spears a pastry with her fork, bringing the small square to her plate. With her small victory underway, Shaw and her mother reanimate, going about their business normally.

Shaw’s mom picks up the smaller cup, sipping it back quickly as the steam rises up around either side of her mouth. Shaw grabs a packet of sugar, pouring it into her mug, and Root watches, limbs apparently reaching their max allowance of movement.

Feeling eyes on herself, Shaw peers up at Root. She keeps herself tilted over her mug, sugar still swirling in, but it is apparent all of her attention is on Root. She opens her eyes a little wider, asking Root again if she is alright. This time, Root gives the shortest of nods. Her fingers feel like trembling, so she places them under the table before they decide to. Shaw, noticing, lets her eyes narrow in concentration. She says nothing, though, merely picking up a spoon to mix her drink.

Then, she bumps her knee purposely into Root’s. What is meant as a way for Root to unwind only cranks her even tighter, coiling her muscles to the point of breaking. Too much is happening all at once- Shaw’s mom showing up, Shaw opening up the slightest bit, and her own ungraceful ways to top it all off.

Trying once more not to think, Root reaches straight before her for a sugar pack.

“Root,” Shaw’s mother starts, voice like a mouse trap clamping down on Root as she gives a jump. “Be a dear and hand me a danish, would you?” Root whips her hand rightward at once.

In trying not to think, she thinks too little.

Before she even has time to register, Root’s hand knocks into the Creamer of milk with the force of a Mack truck. The metal bowl connects with the back of her hand, instantly taking off like a billiard ball smacked with a baseball bat. One second Root sees the table, the next is a flash of silver, and then a cover of white. The sound of the Creamer clattering to the table.

Root snaps her hand back in to her side, eyes instantly starting along the milk’s trajectory. The only object in its path?

Sameen Shaw.

“Oh,  _shit_ ,” Root mutters under her breath, among other swears, taking in Shaw’s appearance. Her eyes are closed, lips pressed tightly together, as milk drips from her nose and pools at her collar. Her black trench coat is speckled in white, and it quickly begins to soak into the material. Milk trickles from the table, dribbling down onto Shaw’s lap, and the whole room is void of all sound, save for the drip drip drip of one hundred percent.

Root hears a squeak, and is unsure if it came from herself or something else.

Nonetheless, she grabs her napkin from the table just as Shaw sticks a hand out for her own, feeling for it blindly. Root scoots in without registering it, beginning to blot at Shaw’s coat in hopes of redeeming herself.

“I’m sorry, Sam” Root whispers to her, embarrassment and adrenaline making her entire body vibrate.

“You’re just lucky I’m not lactose intolerant,” Shaw whispers back, finding her napkin and swiping at her mouth. “Otherwise I’d have to kick your ass.” Root feels the smallest bit of guilt release from her shoulders at Shaw’s attempted humor, but she’s still too upset to smile.

Between Root’s best effort and the absorbing qualities of cotton, the milk disappears from Shaw’s jacket, and Shaw finishes up wiping her face and neck.  _Only,_  Root realizes,  _she didn’t finish._

Root leans in a little closer, blotting at a place along Shaw’s jawline that Shaw had missed. Almost as soon as Root realizes just what she’s doing, Shaw swats her hand away aggressively, her ears heating up and turning red. At seeing it, Root breaks into a large, characteristic grin. As if, for the second, it’s just the two of them again. Just Shaw and Root and Shaw’s fluster and Root’s shameless advances. Their normal; their day-to-day always.

“I suppose  _now_  is a good time to ask,” Shaw’s mom cuts in, breaking Root’s moment of sanctuary and dragging her back to the real world. “How long have the two of you been together?”

____________\ We’ll Find You /____________

Root coughs as Shaw clenches her jaw, murder in her eyes.

“We- w- e’re- w-”

“We’re not together,” Shaw answers, throwing a cross glance Root’s stuttering way.  _What the hell has gotten into her?_ She wonders, but hasn’t the time to ponder it long.

“Oh, come  _on_  Sameen,” Shaw’s mom says with light-hearted disapproval. “You don’t need to  _lie_  to  _me_.” Shaw can feel her lips curling into a sneer, knuckles turning white as she grips the edge of her seat.

“Not lying,” Shaw replies tightly, eyes trying to signal for her mother to cut the subject. However, whether she doesn’t see it or doesn’t want to see it, her mom presses on without thought.

“That’s a real shame,” she tells Shaw, although her eyes do travel to Root in the process. “You two seem real good to each other.” From the corner of Shaw’s eye, she can see the twitch of a sheepish smile surfacing on Root’s face. The sight sends an army of butterflies storming Shaw’s system- a feeling she not only doesn’t welcome, but also despises. She can’t seem to suppress it though, which only makes her all the more livid.

“Can I have a word with you in  _private_?” Shaw asks between clenched teeth, eyes burning holes right through her mother’s skull. Her mom, unfazed by the glare that could make a grown man cower, nods, standing up. Without saying a word of explanation to Root, Shaw stands as well, slipping past and heading towards the back of the café. Her mother follows without asking a single question, merely tagging along pleasurably until Shaw comes to a sudden stop, wheeling around with fangs bared and the flames of Hell burning in her eyes.

“What was that?” Shaw demands, more visibly riled than she ever usually allows herself. Shaw’s mom smiles a knowing smile, not raising her voice even half an octave in reply.

“I just  _assumed_  with the way the two of you act around each other.  _And_ …”

“And  _what_ ,” Shaw spits.

“I think you should give it a  _shot_  with her.” Shaw’s teeth grind together painfully as she tries to scrape up any remaining self control.

“How I go  _about_  that is none of your  _business_ ,” Shaw seethes, breathing the slightest bit labored. In her terms, it is the equivalent of being lit on fire- and, on the inside, she feels the burn.

“At least you’re working on it, then?” Her mother asks with a hopeful hint in her tone, and Shaw’s eyes narrow.

“I never said I was,” Shaw snarls.

“You never said you  _weren’t_ ,” Shaw’s mom points out in an even tone. Placing her hands on her hips, Shaw shakes her head, rolling her tongue over her teeth in irritation.

“Same old Mom,” Shaw mutters.

“Same old daughter,” her mother counters, wicked frost tingeing her sharp wit. Shaw rolls her eyes at that, but all of her previous anger leaves her in a single exhale. A moment of quiet spreads between them before Shaw’s mom decides to press the matter further. “Why are you scared to ad-”

“I’m not  _scared_ ,” Shaw interjects defensively, and her mother gives her a look.

“Well, you sure are  _something_ , otherwise you wouldn’t be  _working_  on it, yes?” Shaw finds herself without a word to say, without a way to even react, so she merely stands there, staring blankly at her mother. Her mom smiles, knowing she’s got her daughter on this one. “You’ll figure it out, I know. You were always an intelligent child. Not the most  _social_ ,” she adds, as if giving Shaw a compliment alone is unacceptable. “But, from what I’ve seen of her, neither is she.”

“You haven’t seen much of her,” Shaw says truthfully, coming to stand at her mother’s side, both gazing back towards the table. “You freak her out.” Her mom gives an indignant huff at that, and Shaw crosses her arms over her stomach with a smile.

Her eyes trail over their table, coming to Root, who’s gazing out the window. Her face is turned away from them as she watches the street and the people walking on it, but soon enough, she faces straight ahead once more. From here, Shaw catches her profile caught in the window’s pale light, and her stomach does the fluttery thing once again. Shaw watches Root as she does absolutely nothing at all, yet still finds her fascinating. Interesting. A mystery wrapped in a paradox holding a wild card. She thinks of the things they’ve been through, the things that- despite her locking them away and never sharing them with even herself- she feels, and the things she thinks about. Her mind reels through everything from the beginning all the way to just minutes ago, where Root touched her face. Shaw’s hand travels there subconsciously, fingers trailing down the places Root’s brushed, and a sort of tightness hooks onto her lungs as her heart soars free.

She drops her hand just as Root spears the guava puff from her plate, peering over their way. It’s a quick glance that turns into a double take. Root’s eyes expand a little- no doubt from seeing both women watching her, Shaw with her own slight smile- and her jaw sags the slightest bit. Her hand goes limp, and after a few seconds, the pastry has slid to the very tip of the fork. It drops, landing back onto the plate with a splat.

Suddenly, the gravity of everything lands atop Shaw, leaving her with no way to expel of it save for laughter. She chuckles rather loudly; it’s a mixture of exasperation and insanity as she shields her eyes with a hand, closing them and shaking her head.

“ _Why_ ,” she groans, unable to hold her tongue any longer.

“Why what?” Her mother asks, eyes questioning.

“Why do I have feelings for this- this  _idiot_ ,” she says. But, although she hasn’t the faintest idea, she somehow already knows the answer.


End file.
